Hot Enough For You?
by Morality Sucks
Summary: Sam interrupting Dean's private angel time incites a prank war to end all prank wars. Dean/Cas and (hopefully) hilarious hijinks await.


The single traffic light on the small, sad excuse of a main street hung slack from a bare cord stretched across the abandoned intersection, red light flashing periodically. It bounced off the puddles of rain water pooled across the crumbled asphalt and reflected off the steely, pristine chrome of the Impala's frame.

"Just go."

Dean glared sideways at the sleepy mumble from the passenger seat, a little resentful of his dozing-yet-still-managing-to-backseat-drive brother. They had just finished a bloody, exhausting hunt involving a rugaru/vampire couple (draining and devouring like a Jack Sprat thing, nasty) and they were both on the tail end of a four day caffeine fueled bender. Neither were in the mood to deal with the other. "The minute I do that, Barney Fife steps out from his speed trap and we end up-"

"Don't care." Sam said through a yawn before turning to rest his forehead against the window and closing his eyes.

'Don't care!' Dean mouthed mockingly at the back of his brother's head and flicking the radio on, filling the car with the upbeat intro of Black Sabbath's Paranoid.

_All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy._

_Think I'll lose my mind if I don't find something to pacify._

There was a familiar shudder at the back of Dean's mind, a flurry through his consciousness that made his cheeks flush just as Castiel appeared over him, knees straddling Dean's waist and hands on the high bench back on either side of his head, face inches away.

Shadows from the droplets of rain winding across the Impala's windshield stood out like living tears on the angel's cheeks, adding an imagined sadness to his passive expression, bright blue eyes gleaming through the darkness of the cab. The ends of his overcoat fluttered around them.

Dean's hands left the steering wheel and traced smoothly up Cas' legs, clamping against his thighs even as his sleep deprived brain struggled sluggishly to process the surprise appearance.

Staying completely silent, Cas leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against Dean's. Already rock hard and ready to go, Dean wrapped an arm around his back, spreading his hand wide in the warm hollow between the angel's shoulder blades while he kissed him longingly and pulled him against him.

_Can you help me-_

_Occupy my brain?_

"Dude, it's green, come on." This statement accompanied an annoyed groan from the passenger seat when Sam cracked open an eye and looked from the flashing traffic light to his brother.

At the sound of the younger Winchester's voice, Dean found himself groping thin air and with a heartbeat to match the fast guitar line of the song. Frowning, he drew his teeth across his bottom lip, feeling the barest traces of saliva from the too-short kiss, ensuring he hadn't imagined it. Slamming his hand down on the gear shift, he kicked her into first with a grunt and peeled off down the empty street. "I was thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"I'll try." He turned sharply into the motel parking lot on the left, veering across the other lane and causing Sam to smack his forehead against the window he was leaning on. "Woops."

Sleep deprivation was a bitch.

* * *

A heavy, urgent pressure in Sam's bladder pulled him out of perfectly acceptable sleep. Dreamless REM sleep was such a rare leisure for anyone in his line of work, that being woken for something as mundane as pissing was incredibly annoying. He rolled to a sitting position and slid his bare feet to the threadbare carpet, pausing to stretch his long arms and yawn lion-like. His jeans rode low on his hips and he scratched absently at his bare chest as he stood.

He padded several feet to the open bathroom door and blinked blearily at the light pooling out of the tiled room, now aware of the sound of the shower running inside. Glancing at his watch, the glowing dial told him it was twenty past four in the morning. Not an average shower time, but Dean might have had a few too many in his attempt to recover from the hunt or was just waking up from a rough nightmare. "Whatever." He muttered quietly, yawning again as he pushed the door open and went in.

Dean's silhouette was standing out in stark relief through the off-white shower curtain, leaning back with his head tilted all the way against the wall. Steam from the hot water swirled around the small room, fogging the mirror and coating every surface in sweating moisture.

Sam was still half asleep and it took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to register the other sounds accompanying the constant woosh of water thudding against the hard plastic of the shower floor. Dean's irregular breathing, punctuated by quiet little moans, barely audible over the water but suddenly the loudest sound in the cramped bathroom.

That's when he realized there was another silhouette, just a widening of shadow at Dean's waist from someone kneeling in front of him.

Sam moved to back out when his eyes fell on the pile of clothes next to the free standing sink. His brother's torn jeans and inside out, faded Zeppelin shirt lay together next to a neat stack of folded slacks and a discarded button up shirt. He glanced at the back of the door and wasn't the least bit surprised by the rumpled overcoat hanging off the hook.

With a scoff, he reached out, flushed the toilet and exited the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Son of a _bitch!_"

Dean's angry bellow followed Sam out the motel door, and he was still smirking to himself as he found an acceptable tree behind the abandoned parking lot and finally emptied his bladder.

* * *

Dean was already halfway through his second breakfast burrito when Sam stepped into the diner and slid into the booth across from him. They hadn't spoken since the shower mishap and Sam was careful to avoid his brother's eyes as he pulled out a menu. Examining the disappointingly unhealthy breakfast options, he felt Dean's glare burning into him. "What?"

"You know what."

Putting the menu down, Sam met his gaze with raised eyebrows. "Oh, I'm sorry, did my use of the bathroom conflict with yours last night?"

With a sour expression, Dean returned to his burrito. "I just hate to think I'm livin' in a world where a guy can't jerk his kirk in the shower without getting the flush treatment."

Sam scoffed. "Okay, first off? Maybe next time you could try closing the door all the way. And second, you were _not _jerking your kirk. At least not your own."

Dean pursed his lips and looked across the table at him. "Let's just pretend I was."

"Why are we still pretending that's not a thing?"

He took a monstrous bite of burrito and chewed thoughtfully before responding. "He's more comfortable thinking it's a secret and I'm happy keeping him happy." He grinned. "The sex is better that way."

Scowling, Sam rolled his eyes. "Aaaand that's enough of that conversation. Sorry about flushing on you guys. It seemed really funny at the time."

"Oh, it was hilarious." Crinkles appeared next to Dean's eyes when he gave a crooked half smile before shoving the last bit of his food into his mouth. "So funny I'm still laughing, and there's a whole lot more laughs where those came from. Enjoy your food."

Sam frowned after him, watching his brother's wide, casual gait all the way out of the diner before shaking his head and returning to the menu.

"Hey there, what can I get you?"

He turned to the petite blonde waitress, smiling down at him with a soft smile and a pot of coffee in her hand. "Hi, I dunno, what do you think clogs the least amount of arteries?"

She laughed airily. "Good luck with that, best I can suggest is- oh, woops!" The order pad she'd extracted from her apron slipped out of her perfectly manicured hand and fell to the floor right at his feet.

"Oh, let me get that! Uh." Sam moved to grab it and heard the tearing of fabric before he realized what was happening. He'd moved and the seat of his pants had not, the embroidered denim was stuck fast to the bright red plastic of the booth bench. Sitting back slowly, he pressed his lips together and grimaced at the waitress as she retrieved her book.

"You okay?"

"Yup."

Her brow wrinkled but she breezed past it, used to ignoring weird situations in the service industry. "Mmk, you wanna order?"

"Nope."

"Alright, I'll give you a minute. Coffee while you- Oh my god!"

The pot seemed to jump right out of the poor girl's grasp. It had been off the burner long enough to not be damaging, but the scalding liquid was still enough to make Sam jump with a shout of surprise, leaving his tattered pants behind.

"Oh, I- I'm so sorry, how did that even- what just- oh god, I'll get a rag." She darted off, leaving him standing in the middle of a relatively full diner in his dark blue boxer-briefs, every pair of eyes trained on him.

"108 degrees Fahrenheit. The same temperature as the running shower in the motel you and Dean are currently staying at when the toilet is unexpectedly flushed and the cold water is drained."

He turned in horror towards the monotone voice, finding Castiel sitting at the booth where Dean had been, arms across the table and head tilted slightly as he stared back at him.

"Dean says 'Hot enough for you?'"


End file.
